


Alive, Among Other Things

by Tyranno



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, KWP (Kissing Without Plot), M/M, Post-Canon, ex-horror protag romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: After Lousiana, Ethan drives from place to place, unable to find an anchor. And then he finds someone who, at least partially, understands.





	Alive, Among Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up staying up to 12:47 to write this, which is pretty late. I've always found the idea of two former horror protagonists hooking up intriguing, so here's my attempt. 
> 
> .
> 
>  
> 
> .

Ethan was helped back to his home, but found he couldn’t stay there. His old friends visited him and tried to reconnect, but they all knew he’d been looking for Mia, but didn’t know what he’d found instead. 

Talking to people again felt strange. The Baker house had changed him, he had become a different beast entirely. It had filled him with a tension in his chest like a steel trap, a hyper-awareness. He could see his friends notice it and drift away, repelled by the sharpness in his eyes.

So he quit his job and bought a truck. He took all of the money from his and Mia’s joint account, including her savings account that he’d been reluctant to take from while she was still missing. He said goodbye to all his friends and family, and he left. 

He drove up to New Mexico, where the earth was a violent red and the sky burnt blue all morning. The heat he drove through was almost enough to burn away the dull chill of the swamp that followed him in his bones wherever he went. 

Ethan drove until night fall, and slept in his truck. At sunrise, he drove again. When he felt hungry he ate a few protein bars, and he drank water every two-to-three hours. He had enough to last him a few months. 

Stone rose in the distance like monoliths that had been worn away, trees and shrubs clustered around the foot of the mountains like anxious children. Sand migrated into every nook and cranny of his clothing, seemed to be constantly under his hands and between his fingers and toes. 

The sun was a constant, heavy presence on him, searing the back of his beck and the bridge of his nose. The sun and the heat were inescapable, but he had dealt with worse. Much worse. It did make him wish he had enough water to wash in, or that he had shaved his head before heading out. 

Nightmares plagued his sleep, so he only slept in hour or two-hour blocks and adapted. The long hours driving cramped his back and hands, but his body was already tightened by scars and burns, and while he couldn’t leave his truck, he sat in its shadow when his spine hurt and read a few of Mia’s old romance novels that had somehow made their way into his luggage. 

The flatness of the landscape eased his mind. With the mirrors and the stillness of the road he could keep an eye on every direction and be sure there was no-one around, that there was no danger. When he first set off he checked every mirror obsessively, kept his eyes fixed on every ruffle of the bushes, but as the days passed his mind grew quieter. He stopped rooting through his luggage at every opportunity to look for bombs. When he drove, he stopped searching and searching the horizon, but instead his mind grew dull from heat and he found a little peace. 

The appearance of road signs surprised him. Salarido, Twenty Miles, it read.

Driving for this long, Ethan found it hard to remember that other people exists, that he wasn’t here alone. He felt alone, out there. It was him and the desert birds, the mongooses and coyotes, him and the burning, deadly sun. 

He climbed back into his truck and drove on. Salarido… Salarido… he tried to remember what cities in New Mexico were like. He’d driven over a few times, but his memory was foggy. 

Ethan stopped at a gas station ten miles from Salarido, and spent the whole time he was paying trying to look like he knew what he was doing. He bough a few semi-melted chocolate bars and ate them. It had been so long since he had eaten candy. 

The road of Salarido was covered in fine sand that blew up behind his truck like a tide. Seeing houses again after what was probably a month of desert felt surreal, like he was an alien investigating earth. The chocolate that coated the inside of his mouth was starting to feel stale. 

The buildings in Salarido were flat and low-roofed, pretty plain by most standards. The only distinguishing features were the shop signs, or the numbers on the front of houses. A few of the trucks parked outside them were similar to his own, which was comforting. He hated standing out. 

Ethan parked outside a hotel, considered stopping to get food first, but noticed how bad he smelt. He had forgotten to bring a second pair of clothes and smelt like a dead dog left in the sun. If he was going to mimic a normal person he had to be a little less revolting. 

 

*

 

He finished changing into new clothes, still damp from the shower, as the sun was setting. The sunset was the best part of the day. He loved to watch the blue change to orange, pink, and then a dark, deeper blue. It was like a living painting. 

When night fell, he hit the streets. 

He reached the bar when it was nearing eleven and business was really starting to pick up. He ordered a beer and sat near the corner, trying to acclimatise to the presence of other people. 

“Here, sweetie,” The bartender pushed a dripping pitcher of beer at him. “You new?” 

Ethan looked up at her. 

She was beautiful. She had warm, burnished copper skin with an undertone of gold, and broad, smooth cheekbones. Her dark, dense hair was styled in two buns like cat ears a little above her ears. Her smile was bright and her eyes glittered in the dim bar lighting. She was so totally unlike Mia that it put him at ease, and he smiled back at her. 

“I’m from Texas,” Ethan said.

“What brings you over here, then?” The bartender asked. 

“Needed a change of scenery,” Ethan said, “Need to burn out some bad memories.” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow. 

Ethan shook his head, annoyed with himself. 

“I’ve heard that before,” The bartender said. “A lot of people seem to want to get away from stuff and come here.” 

“I doubt they’ve had the same experience as me,” Ethan shook his head, and took a gulp of his beer. 

“Maybe not,” The bartender said, “but that guy,” she nodded her head to the back of the bar, “he used the same phrase as you. ‘burn out bad memories’.” 

“Which guy?” Ethan asked, following her gaze. 

“The one by the juke box,” She said, nodding at him. 

The guy next to the juke box looked hunted. His eyes were rimmed with red and he stared, blankly at the table in front of him. He turned the drink in his hand absently. 

“He’s got the same look as you,” The bartender said, “that kind of american-psycho stare.” 

“Thanks,” Ethan said, flatly. 

“He looks like he needs a friend,” The bartender said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. 

Ethan didn’t know what it was. Maybe the woman had charmed him, maybe he was getting soft, or maybe he was just nuttier than he thought—it certainly wasn’t something he would have done before Louisiana—but he ordered another beer and walked over, setting it down firmly in front of the other man. 

“I’m Ethan Winters,” Ethan said. 

The other man looked up at him. 

And he saw it. 

That look. It was the same Ethan saw in the mirror. The dark shadow that collected under his eyes, the speed of his glances, the tension he carried in his heart. Ethan sat back and stared at him. 

“Blake,” He said, “Blake Langermann.” 

“What brings you out here?” Ethan said, taking a long drink of his beer. It was starting to warm in the night air, but he didn’t mind. 

“Just travelling,” Blake said, “So are you making a move?” 

“A move?” Ethan asked. 

“On that bartender?” Blake asked, “she seemed to be pretty into you.” 

Ethan had a vivid image of shooting Mrs Baker in the crotch, at the huge, taut pustule there. “No,” He said quickly, swallowing back sick, “No I don’t think I’m going after women for at least a little while.” 

Blake sat back in his chair and nodded. “What about you? What’re you down here for?”

Ethan looked at him carefully, searching every inch of the other man’s face. He had the distinct impression Blake knew the answer to that one. “Same as you,” Ethan said, “Just travelling.”

“Hmm...” Blake said. He glanced at the television above the bar, which was playing a silent football game. There was a few moments of silence. Ethan noticed that Blake’s hands were slightly bent, like claws, and each had a thick knot of scar tissue in the palm that ran up between the middle two knuckles. It looked like someone had stuck nails through his hands. 

“Did you know that Albuquerque has the largest international hot air balloon fiesta?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Ethan smiled. “When I was younger, I thought Albuquerque was made up. It was spelt so funny.” 

“Did you?” Blake asked. 

They talked the whole night about inane crap, the sort of conversation that would usually make Ethan want to bash his head against the wall, but with Blake it felt different. It felt like, although they had just met, in the darkness of their eyes they already knew each other, and recognised the animal in each other. 

“Last round,” The bartender called, and Ethan stood up and stretched. 

“Calling it a night?” Blake asked, standing up too. 

“Yeah,” Ethan said, heading out into the chill night air. Blake followed him closely, and as they were outside he tugged Ethan an alleyway and kissed him. 

It was so slow and gentle it was almost as surprising as something sudden. All of Ethan’s one-night stands—sparse after Mia’s disappearance and totally non-exisant after her brief reappearance—had always been rushed and intense, lit by a fire in him. This was different. 

Blake closed the distance between them, pressing his chest against Ethan’s. He curled an arm around Ethan and settled his hands on the globes of Ethan’s ass, squeezing lightly. There was the fire, a curl of desire in his pelvis. Ethan carded his hands through Blake’s hair, gripping it. Blake groaned. 

Ethan pulled back, breathing hotly in the space between them. “My hotel room,” He breathed, cupping the back of Blake’s head, “Let’s go there.” 

Blake’s eyes were black, pupils blown wide. Heat curled off his spine and his hands seemed to leave brands. “Okay,” He said, and pulled back. A chill spread over Ethan’s back in his absence. 

The short half-jog across town to the hotel was exhilarating. The night air was cold and clammy, but the heat of Blake’s presence lighted Ethan’s heart in a way that was hard to describe. He felt giddy, and childlike, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

They reached the hotel room and were kissing again. Blake palmed his crotch and ran a hand up Ethan’s back. Blake’s hot breath on his neck was infuriating. Ethan threw off his shirt and pushed Blake into bed, straddling him and kissing him hard. Blake moaned breathlessly. 

Ethan nipped his neck, and licked a stripe across Blake’s collarbone. 

Blake tensed.

Ethan sat up, peering down at Blake. “What is it?” He asked. 

“It’s just...” Blake looked queasy, “I don’t really like tongues.” 

Ethan leant closer, until their breath mingled. “Is kissing okay?” He asked. 

Blake ran a thumb over the line of staple scars that circled Ethan’s wrist. “Kissing is okay,” He whispered. 

Ethan kissed him, and slid a hand down his pants. 

 

*

 

Later, when sunlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains and the heat of two bodies under hotel blankets was nearly unbearable, Ethan woke up again. He was still too used to sleeping in little chunks. 

Ethan watched a sliver of the street below through the curtains. A dark dog sniffed around tin cans before disappearing from sight, followed by a small boy. A bird perched on the hotel windowsill, looking at Ethan intently with bright, beady eyes, before flying off again. 

Blake stirred beside him, pushing the covers off his face. “It’s hot,” He said. 

Ethan watched the bird land on a telephone pole and shuffle its wings. It swooped low onto the red earth, pecked up a worm and tore it from the earth. It ate quickly, snapping its beak. 

“What do you think happens when you die?” Blake asked. 

Ethan tilted his head, watching the bird. It was a question he didn’t like to consider much. “I wonder if it’s just another life,” He said, “Reincarnation.”

“God, I hope not,” Blake grumbled, stretching his legs out. “I can’t do this shit again.” 

Ethan hummed. He felt strange, but a good strange. He felt human again, for the first time in a long time. He watched Blake roll out of bed and pull his shirt on, over the long scars that lines his spine, and he hoped he felt the same.


End file.
